Taking Tea and Taking Time
by a certain slant of light
Summary: Penelo's finding out happily ever after doesn't always last. ჯ LarsaPenelo. sequel to Payment as Repayment.
1. Eleven O’Clock

**Author's Note:** What up! Yes, it's that time, time for the long awaited sequel to Payment as Repayment! THAT time! You asked, and though a lot later than expected, I have delivered!

I've discovered my Penelo likes having things to do. I barely even realize it when I write her like that, but that's the way I see her.

"Payment as Repayment" was told more from Larsa's view, so in "Taking Tea and Taking Time," I wanted to focus on Penelo's feelings. The whole thing has a different vibe to it than PaR, but that's intentional. It's another point in their lives, where it's regressed to normalcy, and not everything is in front of you and perfectly spelled out and take action now. I'm really happy with the way this came out and the composition of it. I felt I conveyed it exactly as I'd hoped (though I admit when I started writing it, I totally winged it). (Hell, I'm still winging it.)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Final Fantasy XII. Frealz.

* * *

Taking Tea and Taking Time  
Chapter One: Eleven O'Clock

Penelo paced for unending minutes before she forced herself to stop, scared she might walk holes into the fine carpet of her bedroom. It was unnerving to have such a big room all to herself, with windows taller and wider than she was, and curtains sewn of softer cloth than the most costly of Migelo's sheets. Even more unnerving was her bed, which could probably fit four of her if she weighed about two hundred pounds more, though luckily it never felt too large, what with the colossal mound of pillows.

_Too nice a room for a street urchin,_ she thought. _Maybe I have castle fever._

What a silly notion! People wanted to come to these places, not leave them. Archadia was a beautiful country, especially its capital city and castle, with sprawling grounds and rooms the size of an entire house. Sadly, it only furthered her point that this was a place for royals or dignitaries or at the very least attendants, none of which she happened to be. Just in good favor with the emperor, that was it, so she grew more uncomfortable each day – not under the Archadian sun, but under the stares of passing servants.

And of course she was Dalmascan, which made things rather awkward. Whenever she was introduced to an ambassador (on Larsa's insistence, for she felt like such a dreadful misfit when he did it, but smiled anyway), they went so out of their way to be nice or impress her, as if to say, "Yeah, sorry about that whole invasion thing."

With a sigh, Penelo flopped onto her bed; the mattress sunk snugly beneath her, like a cloud cushioning her fall. Above all her worries, she feared she was overstaying her welcome. It was terribly kind of Larsa to allow her room and board after rescuing her from the harem, but it had been months. He seemed to enjoy her company and adored pleasing her, even letting her train with the court's dancers, the finest in Archadia. Yet there was a tugging at her heart for her home, and the smiling faces of Vaan and Ashe, and perhaps even Balthier and Fran, should they decide to break from the sky and touch ground for a day or two in Rabanastre.

How to tell Larsa? He had done so much and she felt so ungrateful, which couldn't be farther from the truth: She was full of so much gratitude she could barely contain it, that her heart was full to bursting with it when Larsa was with her. But he was not with her often, only as often as was possible; they went for walks, ate dinner together, strolled through the palace menagerie. One time she even danced for him, though she was so nervous she nearly tripped and fell on her face, and thus refused every obliging inquiry for an encore performance since.

These days, however, Larsa found himself increasingly occupied by his country, so their walks were few and their dinners quiet.

The sun was high, droplets of light leaking between the drapes, falling against the backs and pooling at the hems. Larsa was with his advisors, but would take tea soon, and she would like to be there with him. Tea they always shared. Not to mention noon was a soothing time of day, with the sun high as hope: the perfect time to confront him. Yet she was horribly nervous, wringing her hands together until she could scarcely tell one finger from the other.

To be certain, she whispered her speech to herself as she rose and walked circles: "Larsa, I can't thank you enough for all you've done, and I've really enjoyed my time here and all the time I've spent with you, but I do miss Dalmasc – AH!" Penelo collided ungracefully with a bedpost, her head smarting something awful. She almost laughed at herself, until her vision cleared and she spied the time – then laughter was the last thing from her mind.

Penelo drew a great breath and stood, then left her room and began down the halls. The Archadian palace was larger than life. The ceiling soared high above her head, marble with arabesque etchings of stone. The windows stretched up, magnificent views of the grounds and the city beyond them glowing proudly in the sun. Tapestries hung from the walls, woven of rich purples twining into vibrant golds. There were servants in every room and stalking streamlined up and down the corridors, bowing as she passed, all busy. She wished she had something to do; she offered to work for Larsa, but he refused outright. She was a_guest_, he insisted. So she occupied her time with dancing or helping in the garden or exploring the library (in truth, climbing the shelves was more interesting than reading what was on them; she was convinced she was channeling Vaan and his impishness when she scaled them; she was further convinced she was channeling his incapacity for stealth when she got caught).

She trotted down flights of stairs and emerged in another hallway, nodding at a passing boy with papers packed to popping under his arms, then continued on her route. As always, they were taking tea in the garden; Larsa would already be there. It made Penelo feel funny, the phrase "taking tea" and the fact that she was the one taking it. Not even Migelo "took tea," and for so many years of her life he was the wealthiest being Penelo knew. She wondered if Vaan, when he visited Ashe, took tea – then hoped sincerely not: he would be awful at taking tea, would have crumbs all over himself. Penelo bit back a giggle. Vaan taking tea would be enough to take down an empire.

She was soon outside, tracing the pathway that led to the rose garden, where lacquered benches and tables dotted the ground for just such occasions. As she expected, Larsa was already seated, a teapot, set of cups, and tray of delights before him. Penelo quickly sidled into the vacant chair.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, blushing. He had so little time to spend with her, she hated to make him waste it.

"Not at all," he replied kindly and smiled. He was much too kind, but it was such a virtuous fault she thought perhaps she was just too jaded.

They talked while she stirred her tea: he recounted relations with Rozarria and Dalmasca. She was sipping gingerly when he told her he would be flying to Rabanastre the next day to talk with Ashe personally. She was so eager to say something, she nearly choked inhaling her tea.

"You're going to Rabanastre?" she asked between fits of coughing. He hastily handed her a handkerchief.

"Yes, but that's not – are you all right?"

"Fine, fine!" She wheezed a few more times into the handkerchief and smiled. "I'm fine."

Larsa seemed skeptical. "Very well. And yes, I am traveling to Rabanastre to speak with Queen Ashe. Why do you ask?"

"Can I go with you?" Penelo blurted, then laughed nervously. She had an entire mantra prepared for this moment, but seemed to have condensed it into five words. _Speaking after I think,_ mused Penelo. _I wonder if Larsa has an instructor for that._

Larsa appeared bemused for a moment, as if curious of her motive, though nodded and sipped his tea. "Of course you may. I'll have the servants pack your things. I'm sorry, I didn't realize… I've been keeping you all to myself. You must miss your friends."

"I do, but don't feel bad or anything. You're my friend too." _Friend_. When he didn't object to the word, Penelo suddenly wasn't in the mood for tea, much less food. "And I can pack my own things, it's no trouble."

"Of course."

To Penelo's surprise, conversation did not resume; the garden was filled solely with the sounds of tea sloshing silently and cups chiming as they alighted on their saucers. It seemed an eternity before a servant came to summon Larsa away; he bowed regally to Penelo before departing. Penelo curtsied in return and spent the next two hours in the garden, consumed by the need to do something. Larsa's voice as he bade her farewell tolled clear in her mind all the while, even as the gardener chatted amicably with her while they pulled weeds. Why had he sounded so dejected as he left? Had she said something wrong? Penelo became so engrossed in wondering that soon she was pulling out more flowers than weeds. She would have continued, too, had the gardener not demanded she leave before the massacre of magnolias escalated into a full-on slaughter.

When Penelo returned to her room, she was only half surprised that her things were already stowed. He may have said "of course," but in Larsa's language that translated to "nonsense, you're my _guest_." Sometimes she thought Archadians were too polite for their own good. (_For goodness sakes,_ she also sometimes thought,_ even Vayne was polite._ She wished they could be more like Ashe, weaving a healthy curtain of curses every now and then, and wondered if Larsa was at all repressed by his regality.)

There was only a set of clothes and nightclothes on her dresser; the rest, she assumed had been carted away by servants.Despite living there, Penelo kept only a few articles of clothing. Larsa never attempted to buy her fancy dresses: he knew as well as she did that she didn't find them very practical or appealing; though she would have been flattered, they were both of the opinion that a dress unappreciated was someone's fine craftsmanship and hard work wasted.

Still, they had packed quite a bit, but it occurred to Penelo that she hadn't asked Larsa how long they were staying.

_Must be at least a week,_ she concluded, _if they've taken all my things._ As a week with her friends sounded lovely, so at dinner she did not ask. After she ate, with nothing to do and nothing to pack, she went to bed. It took her hours to stifle her anticipation. In fact, she was so preoccupied with it she didn't have time to remark on Larsa's strange silence at dinner.

* * *

The flight to Rabanastre was as long as she knew it would be, a journey made even longer by Larsa's absence. She was not allowed on the bridge, only in her cabin. She hoped against hope that he would come visit her, but after an hour passed and he had not, Penelo decided he must be very busy and spent the rest of the trip watching clouds flit past her window, drifting in and out of naps.

When they sunk into the aerodome, a party was waiting to welcome them. Vaan burst from it and ran to her, hugging her tightly. The complete lack of bows or curtsies earned them skeptical looks, but both were far too happy to notice.

"Vaan!" Penelo was seized and spun around, overcome with laughter. "Good to see you too!"

Vaan set her down and they were off to the palace, absorbed in conversation. He told her all about his adventures around Ivalice and the months he spent flying with Balthier and Fran, as well as the boring ones where had to do honest work on charter ships. ("The East Ivalice Company is such a bore. The only way to start any excitement is to 'accidentally' drop a wanted poster of yourself around the stewardesses. But after that you get sort of fired, so mostly it's just a bore.")

"And how's Ashe doing?" Penelo asked as they neared Rabanastre's center.

"Really good." Vaan walked casually, hands slung behind his head, elbows toward the sky – it was a picture so familiar, Penelo felt as if she'd never been away. "Basch too. They're spending more and more time together."

Penelo's heart skipped a beat. "It isn't…"

"War?" He laughed. "Nah, don't think so. Can't imagine what else, though."

She smiled. "Of course you can't."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, just that you're as clueless as ever."

"Hey!"

They chased each other the rest of the way to the palace, where they raced up the steps. Penelo felt like a kid again, trading barbs with Vaan, though it wasn't any harder to best him in a battle of wits than it was before she left. When they arrived at the door, the Archadians' somber silence quieted them down. They drifted to the back of the assembly as they entered, whispers lost among clinking armor.

"So, what do you do around here?" asked Penelo.

Vaan grinned proudly. "I work in the kitchens."

She raised her eyebrows, mildly stunned. "Really?"

"Yeah, it's just as dull as it sounds. But Balthier and Fran are off in Rozarria, and I don't like being in the same room as Balthier when Al-Cid's around, so I stayed behind."

She nodded. "Good idea."

Larsa fell into step beside them. Penelo hardly noticed until, for the first time since tea the day before, he spoke to her. "I'll be convening with Lady Ashe for a good while today. I'm sorry you won't be able to see her. Will you be all right with Vaan?"

"Yes, I'll be fine. Thank you." She was puzzled by his tone: regal, proper, formal, as if he were talking to a stranger. True, his schedule had kept them from being intimate the past few months, but he never spoke so coldly. Not to her.

"Jeeze," whispered Vaan when Larsa was ahead of them, "what's up with Prince Pipsqueak?"

Penelo laughed. "He's taller than you now, you know."

"But I'm older."

"Which means?"

"I'm… mentally taller."

The guards glared at Penelo when she laughed too loud (out of respect, or perhaps genuflection, they did not wear their helmets inside city limits). "Just mental, Vaan, I think."

"C'mon," he said, tugging her away, choosing not to notice her remark. "Those guys give me the creeps. Let me show you all the secret passageways. It's really great. Does Larsa have any in the Archadian palace? Probably not." Vaan smiled – the kind of smile when he had a secret he couldn't wait to share – as they ducked into the hallway.

Penelo cast a glance over her shoulder, but Larsa seemed not to be looking at her, just staring ahead. The way he looked and the way he had spoken made her cold, even with the desert sun streaming through the windows.

* * *

Penelo had a wonderful time listening to Vaan brag about the castle as if it were his own. He lead her through so many passageways, her head began to spin. Finally they ended up in the lower levels of the palace, just in time for supper.

They did not eat with others, but with the servants and kitchen staff. Penelo became a quick favorite of the head chef – she annoyed him, peeking over his shoulder, until she warned him Larsa was allergic to green peppers. Even though she insisted Larsa wasn't the type to blame, the chef was convinced she'd saved his career and his life, and served her all the plumpest potatoes and oldest wine. Vaan, who had been working there for weeks and was the exact opposite of the chef's favorite (and who got served no potatoes or wine at all, just string beans and water), glowered pitifully.

After dinner, the two visited to the stables.

"Bet they don't have horses like this in Archadia," said Vaan smugly.

Penelo fed a carrot to one, patting its nose. "All the horses in Archadia are white, and they're taller, but no, not horses like this."

He pouted. "I bet they don't have such big stables."

"They're bigger, actually."

"Well, they don't have me working in the kitchen!"

She grinned. "Yup, that's another thing they have going for them."

Vaan threw a carrot at Penelo that struck her squarely in the arm. She shrieked, hauling hay into her hands and running after him. She chased him up and down the stable until he tripped on a broom and fell, then she pounced on him and rubbed hay in his hair.

"Stop that!" He shoved her off, shaking his head. It looked as if his hair, a similar color, were falling out as he did.

She leaned back against the stable wall and stretched. "This is nice. Too bad you can't come back to Archadia with me."

"Why can't I?"

Penelo blinked. "Um… I don't know, actually. Because you work here."

"Not really." Vaan brushed hay off his shoulders, grumbling about its scratchiness. "I could work here anytime. Besides, I haven't been to Archadia since the last time Balthier went, dragged kicking and screaming by me because the mark was just _too_ good."

She sighed, ignoring his private victory and his exaggeration of Balthier's trepidation. "I couldn't ask it of Larsa. He's already done so much for me. I couldn't repay all my debts to him in two lifetimes."

He crawled over and took a seat beside her, sprinkling hay in her face. Then, he said seriously, "Larsa's a good guy. I don't think he wants anything from you in return."

"I still feel bad. I've just been living in his palace. It's weird, I don't belong there."

"Well, I've just been living in this palace. I don't feel bad."

"No," Penelo corrected, "you _work_ here. I don't work there, not even as a dancer. I think Larsa would feel guilty if I did."

"But you feel guilty that you don't! That's not very fair of him!"

She gave him a gentle look. "Don't be mad at him, he's just doing what he thinks is right, and I don't want to upset him. He's got a lot on his shoulders, including me."

"And we all know you're pretty heavy."

"Hey!" Penelo stuffed more straw grass in his hair, wrestling him to the ground.

It was then, with Penelo sitting on top of him and his hands on her waist trying to push her off, that light flooded the stables and in stepped Ashe, Basch and Larsa.

"These are our stables," Ashe was saying, when suddenly she spied Penelo and Vaan. "… Oh."

Basch and Larsa followed her gaze; Penelo's face lit up like a tomato as she scrambled off of Vaan, hay pouring from her hands.

"We were just playing," explained Vaan, who wasn't the least bit flustered. Penelo, on the other hand, couldn't muster speech to save her life – or her dignity.

"Of course," said Ashe, though it was clear to even the horses how unconvinced she was. She cleared her throat. "Let us start down here." She led the other two in the opposite direction. Basch politely averted his gaze; Penelo caught Larsa's eye for a split second before he turned and followed the captain.

"Larsa, wait!"

Vaan grabbed her wrist before she went off. "Don't bother them. Come on, we should be going anyway. I'm supposed to show you to your room."

"But…" Penelo's protest was lost as they left the stable and walked back to the palace main, Larsa's lingering look lodged firmly in her mind.


	2. Twelve O’Clock

**Author's Note:** I wrote this some months ago so of course I'm not completely pleased with it anymore, but I figure it's better to post it than let it rot on my hard drive. I hope others like it!

You have no idea how much fun I have writing Vaan all the time. It doesn't matter what story. He's just so hilarious.

I also dedicate this to my new fandom friends, **confused0705**, **astrangerenters**, **coeur-delanuit**, **statikv**, **bouncywild**, **rhianna-aurora**, **iceprincessd**, and **mrsteninch**! For the first time, I feel I've found someplace I belong on LJ! Corny and lame, but there it is! You guys fill my nights with so much awesome, Christopher Walken is jealous!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Final Fantasy XII.

* * *

Taking Tea and Taking Time  
Chapter Two: Twelve O'Clock

The next day, Penelo was late to rise. Even after she awoke, the hot Dalmascan sun kept her in bed for a good thirty minutes. She forgot about the humidity while living in cool Archades, so it seemed to beat upon her extra hard, making sure she took notice of its presence.

She groaned, throwing off her covers, wiping sweat from her brow. It was nearing noon, so the sun was at its hottest, leaking through her windows directly into her face. She squinted and fumbled and fell out of bed, feeling rather pathetic as she crawled to the window and closed the drapes. As soon as she was in shadow, she felt the subtlest bit cooler.

After dressing, Penelo went down for breakfast without checking the clock and found Vaan in the kitchen. Rubbing her sleepy eyes, she asked, "What time is it?"

"Almost noon," he said, scrubbing a pot. There was dish grease and bubbles on his nose that made Penelo smile. "We already ate, but there's a big basket of bread over there, and some apples too. But the chef worships you, so I'm sure he'd cook you up an omelet if you asked."

Not wanting to be any trouble, she shook her head. "Bread and apples is exactly what I was hungry for."

Vaan grunted, unconvinced, and continued scrubbing.

Penelo ate her breakfast as he finished washing dishes, listening to him complain the whole time, as it was easy morning conversation. Then she helped him stack them and stow them away, for though she had no intention of ever working in a kitchen, knowing the general layout of one might prove useful.

"Ashe isn't busy this afternoon," Vaan told her as they closed the silverware drawer, work done. He wiped his hands on his apron and pulled it off, hanging it on a peg. Above it the word "Von" was etched into the wood – she would have asked, but she'd heard enough of Vaan's griping until at least lunch, so kept quiet. "If you want to go see her, I mean. Now that Larsa's gone, nothing to distract her."

Penelo, who had been tracing grooves in the wooden cutting board, stilled. "What?"

Vaan looked at her quizzically. "I said nothing to distract her."

"That's not what I'm asking about," she said heatedly. "Larsa left?"

"Well, yeah." He leaned against the counter. "Didn't you know?"

Her voice sounded hollow, even to her. "No."

Vaan sighed. "I thought it was weird that you weren't going back with him, after what you said last night." He ran a hand through his hair, eyes shamefully glued to the floor. "Gods, I'm really sorry, Penelo. I should have said something. I thought you knew."

Penelo, though not wanting to add to his guilt, couldn't help but ask, "How could I?"

He shrugged. "I figured after they saw us last night," at this, Penelo's cheeks pinkened, "that you guys might've gotten into a fight this morning. But I guess… I guess you were just sleeping. I'm the worst."

"No," Penelo told him, "it's not your fault. I thought he was staying longer… I should've asked."

"He should've told you."

Though she thought that was true, and a rush of righteous indignation surged through her, she ignored it and shook her head. "I shouldn't have assumed."

A silence passed between, unbroken until Vaan asked awkwardly, "What now?"

Penelo heaved a sigh, something she hadn't expected to do while visiting her hometown. "What time is it?"

He glanced at the wall behind her. "Noon."

Mustering a little smile, she motioned to the kettle sitting quietly by the stove. "Let's take tea."

Vaan's eyebrows rose inquisitively, but he set off to pour water nonetheless.

* * *

After taking some of the worst tea she could possibly imagine ("I bet they don't have tea like this in Archadia," bragged Vaan, to which Penelo said, face screwed up in disgust, "Uh, no, no they don't.") Vaan took Penelo to see Ashe and Basch.

To Penelo's surprise, Ashe was dressed casually, and greeted her with a warm smile. She was not how Penelo always envisioned a queen to be, but she was something better: how a friend should be. Penelo was glad the crown had not changed Ashe, as she had feared, and supposed that she had Basch and Vaan to thank for that.

Basch, too, looked well. He was getting on in his years, but was handsome as ever, with the same battle-scarred, gruff face she had a brief crush on after they first met (though now with a decent shave). He shook her hand warmly, and was utterly and (in her opinion) adorably perplexed when she threw her arms around him in a hug. She supposed his face must have been priceless, for it evoked a chuckle from both Vaan and Ashe.

"I've missed you!" Penelo told them, releasing Basch. "Both of you!"

"And we you," said Ashe, before receiving her hug. Vaan looked upon that with less humor, and a hint of jealousy if Penelo knew anything.

"How have you been?"

And so they spent the next hour talking about all sorts of things, from politics to decorating to the five surefire signs that what was on your plate was made (or rather burned) by Vaan. Penelo felt in warm company the entire time, and did not miss the glances passed between Basch and Ashe, or how they stayed in close proximity, or the way their hands brushed every so often when they thought Penelo was distracted by Vaan in an argument. Despite the sadness she felt at Larsa's sudden departure, she couldn't help but beam. Her friends finally had the happiness they so deserved.

"And how is Lord Larsa?" asked Basch. "I pray he is well."

Penelo's face dimmed, which she cleverly hid – or would appear to have done to a stranger, but to friends it was clear her smile did not reach her eyes. "Weren't you with him yesterday?"

Though Ashe noticed Penelo's change in mood, she said nothing. "We had such little time. I'm afraid politics was all we had the chance to speak of."

"And stables," grumbled Vaan sourly.

"Oh," said Penelo, and spent a minute searching for the proper words, her finger placed thoughtfully to her chin. "Well, he is… well. He's very busy, though, making preparations for something. We talk bits and pieces about it, but I'm not really sure what all the hubbub is about."

"He seems distracted," remarked Basch.

Ashe nodded. "And forlorn, today, when he left. Why did you not go with him?"

Penelo was about to reply with a brilliant lie (or so she deluded herself into thinking), when Vaan cut in, "He didn't invite her."

Penelo stopped in her tracks. "Vaan!"

"It's true!"

Ashe and Basch stopped as well, exchanging glances.

"He did not invite you?" asked Basch, skeptical.

Penelo sputtered as Vaan became her personal speech bubble. "He just left without even saying goodbye. Can you believe that?"

"VAAN!"

"Well, that explains it," muttered Ashe thoughtfully.

"Explains what?"

"Vaan," whispered Penelo, and it seemed in her absence she had not forgotten the tone of voice she reserved specifically for her best friend, "just _shut up_."

Basch provided Vaan's answer: "Why he seemed in such a hurry to leave."

Penelo could hear her heartbeat in her ears, drumming slowly, her blood thickened by dread. "What?"

Ashe quickly cut in, "What Basch means is it's all a misunderstanding."

"Well, he hasn't been treating her all that nice anyway," muttered Vaan gloomily, "ignoring her while planning some stupid thing, and not even telling her what it is."

Basch sighed. "It's a wedding."

Penelo watched the exchange before her, feeling oddly detached, as if she was floating above it all. The drumming in her ears grew louder at the word "wedding," until it drowned out Vaan's cries of outrage and Ashe's rushed explanation. It grew so loud that she could not even hear her feet as they slapped angrily on the floor as she fled the room, nor could she hear Vaan's footsteps fade as she easily outran him, nor could hear the sob that escaped her throat.

* * *

The sun sunk behind the dunes of the desert, and still Penelo would not emerge from her room. She could hear Vaan outside her door, slumped against it, bouncing a ball (where he got it from, she could only guess) against the wall. The sound would have driven her insane (which he had probably been counting on) were she not absorbed in her own thoughts, staring out the window.

Rabanastre was still bustling, even in the night. The city light obscured the stars, but Rabanastre was its own sky, with constellations of streetlamps and candles. The aerodome glowed brightest, larger than the moon, nothing but a shining yellow disc in the distance. Every so often airships rose from its depths, or drowned beneath them, or huge pillars of light blinked and wagged in the sky to herald aircraft. She thought of arriving there only the day before, but it seemed years away now. 

Her mind turned to Archadia, and how her sweating skin yearned for its cool breeze. She thought fondly of the garden and pulling flowers of every color, exotic flora that could never bloom in a desert climate. She thought of the friends she'd made in town, and of the kindly dance instructor who told her she had real talent, but most of all she thought of Larsa.

After the harem, they spent much time together, getting to know each other. He was charming and polite and cared for her greatly, or so she thought. He was everything she never found on the streets outside her small circle of friends (which was really family, as they were orphans and each other was all they had). At first, it was hard to be around him, like whatever she did she wasn't sweet or sincere or polite enough (and she learned soon that setting herself to his standard of politeness was just ridiculous, because not possessing even half the words in his vocabulary, it was impossible to ever be as regal). As time wore on and she grew to know him better, she learned to be herself, and perhaps a bit of a better person for meeting him.

When Dalmasca was reclaimed at Archades fell to him, they went their separate ways, but wrote as often as their lives permitted. And that night when he'd found and freed her, she kissed him for the first time and realized that it was not in fact the first time she wanted to. So they only grew closer, finding new qualities about each other to mirror and adore and dislike but ultimately accept because they were lovers, and above that they were friends.

But then, two months ago, he became absorbed in work (Penelo was not sure what kind of work royalty did, but assumed it involved plenty of meetings, because people came in and out of the palace to see Larsa so often she could only hope to assign them numbers if she wished to remember them all, and even then, they were nearing the triple digits). They had less and less time to spend together, until they could not see each other outside the bedroom, and eventually not even there. So Larsa suggested she get her own room, as he was only a burden to her while he was so busy, and how awful it was of him to burden a guest.

Penelo sighed. _Guest_. The word made her heart heavy. She hadn't realized it before, but as the months passed, she had started calling the Archadian palace her home. Silly, of course, and vain, for she had grown up on the streets of Rabanastre behind a sleazy old shop – someone like her could never call a palace _home_. But that's what it felt like now; she imagined that she could see it over the peaks of the desert, splendid and welcoming and cool enough that you could wrap yourself in a blanket beside a window and fall asleep comfortable. Who she was there, useless, was the real problem, because she loved the palace truly, not for its vastness or lavishness or fine trim, but simply because it reminded her of him.

Larsa's face appeared in her mind; her heart sunk lower. It suddenly didn't matter where she was – she missed him so. Anywhere she could wrap herself in his arms would be comfortable… She did not realize just how much she liked (and _liked_ was the word she was resigning herself to use, for he had gone and left her and not even said goodbye, so _like_ was all she was giving him right now) him until…

_Until you found out he was getting married._

And she should have known, she really ought to have known. Penelo knew that, leaning her head against the hot windowpane, feeling her eyes water. He was a prince, and princes didn't marry street urchins, and he was only doing what he thought was right all this time, keeping it from her, not wanting to hurt her.

He must have been engaged since those two months ago, when he began edging her out of his life. Her eyes stung, thinking of all the glances he didn't give her, the fewer kisses they shared, until the entirety of their relationship became taking tea.

And then… and then he intended to cart her off! The heat of the night seemed to gust up and fill her with smoldering anger. He packed all her things – _all her things!_ – and brought her over to Rabanastre and dropped her there without a second thought! How convenient she made things for him, when she asked if she could go! How relieved he must have been! The grateful sigh he must have been hiding!

Penelo stood then, turning away from the window, pacing her room.

"Should have known? Should have known?" she asked herself. "Ha!"

Why should she blame herself? Where was she at fault? He offered her a home, she accepted! He offered her his heart, she accepted! Then he stripped her of what made her heart beat, and would have her moping about in Rabanastre, rejected and… and blaming herself?

"Penelo?" came Vaan's voice at the door. "Penelo, are you with someone in there? Who are you talking to? If it's Larsa, I swear I'm gonna–"

Penelo did not ask what Vaan's reasoning behind such a stupid question was (which was a good idea, as it was in fact, "Well, he might have hidden in your closet, to surprise you, and I was _going_ to say before you interrupted me that I'd feed him to wyrms, but…"), just flung the door open. Vaan's let out a yelp of surprise – that which he had been leaning against suddenly gone – and fell at her feet. 

"Vaan, you're going to help me pack," she told him, as he looked curiously up at her. "And then you're going to fly me to Archades tomorrow."

"I don't have a ship," he said, though he was clearly excited about chewing Larsa out in his own palace.

"We'll take a sky cab if we have to." She extended her hand and pulled him up.

He was already rocking on his heels at the prospect of a new adventure. "I'm sure Ashe will let me borrow one. It's been years since the _Pirse_ accident, I'm sure she trusts me by now."

Memories of the time Vaan had nearly killed them both flashed through her mind ("It wasn't my fault," he always protested. "I didn't know I was flying in a restricted zone and those imperials came out of nowhere. In my defense, they could have warned me before they started shooting!"), but she smiled optimistically. "Yeah, who wouldn't?"


	3. One O’Clock

**Author's Note:** This story is also dedicated to Wight Mamba and Vieraheart15, authors of "Vaan and Penelo's Excellent Adventure." I haven't read it, but every time I see the title, I laugh and smile and roll because it's so awesome. "Vaan and Penelo's Excellent Adventure." Come on! That's gold!

And it's dedicated to my beta of at least three years, **kotoni**!

I love writing Penelo's point. The narrative is so much more casual than when you're writing for Basch or Ashe. One of my favorite things about the characters is their different speech habits. Yes, I'm going to write a fic about it. Yes, it's going to be Basch/Penelo.

**Moderately Important:** I'm not entirely happy with the end of this story, but I wrote it so long ago and I'm just so tired of looking at it that I don't have the drive to drag it out any longer. (: It's not bad. It just doesn't meet my personal standards. So I ask that you please not remark on that, because, trust me, I already know.

Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Taking Tea and Taking Time  
Chapter Three: One O'Clock

If the flight had seemed long coming to Rabanastre, it was even longer leaving. Though Vaan and Penelo had secured a smaller ship than Larsa's, and thus far faster, Penelo was too absorbed in anticipation and dread to bother with patience.

"How much longer?" she asked for the thirteenth time.

"At least two hours," Vaan ground through gritted teeth. "Though five minutes less than when you last asked, _five minutes ago_."

Recognizing it as a bad sign that _she_ was annoying Vaan for once and not the other way around, Penelo nodded and closed her eyes. Sleep did not come, despite the flight being smooth and Vaan being surprisingly silent. But she kept her eyes shut and tried to distract herself by listening to the clicks of buttons and shuddering of engines, hoping to hear a pattern in them. When one did not emerge, she opened her eyes, stretched, and groaned irritably.

She sat worrying her lip for another five minutes before asking, "How much longer?"

"Until I throw you off the ship?" asked Vaan. "I'm guessing five minutes."

Penelo blinked, mildly amused. "You've been around Balthier too much."

"Not really," Vaan said and smiled. "I still don't understand half the things he says."

"Why don't I find that surprising?"

The trip passed by slowly for Penelo and slower for Vaan, who had to shoulder her repetitive question, though it grew less frequent as they flew on. When she wasn't asking how long until their arrival, they exchanged stories of their lives apart, and Penelo finally conceded to telling him about the harem. Vaan was equal parts scandalized that she'd been in one at all and scandalized that she'd kept such an excellent story from him all this time, then went on to say how Balthier would get such a laugh out of it, which ended in _Penelo_ threatening to throw _Vaan_ off the ship, and finally their roles were right again.

* * *

When they arrived at the aerodome, Penelo was off the ship in a flash of blonde hair. Vaan barely had time to pay the moogles before chasing after her as she strode confidently into the streets of Archades.

"How do you find your way around here?" he asked, panting to keep up with her, eyes wandering up the winding streets and alleys.

"It's actually no less complicated than Rabanastre, just on a bigger scale," she told him, waving to a shopkeeper who called her name blithely. "Try to keep up, will you?"

Vaan muttered something foul about the days when he had to drag her on his crazy adventures.

"Yes, but that's slaughtering rats and this is marriage."

"Same thing," said Vaan. Penelo promptly nudged him in the ribs – hard.

When they reached the castle, both short of breath, Vaan was surprised that Penelo did not march right through the colossal looming doors. Instead, she wound around the side, nodding to guards, until they found the servants' entrance.

"What are we doing?"

"What time is it?"

Vaan, who enjoyed asking questions but not answering them, and enjoyed even less receiving a question in reply to another question, looked at the sky and supposed, "Close to noon. Why?"

"Good," Penelo said simply, slipping a key into a small, unnoticeable lock. The door was the same color as the castle wall, almost invisible. Both slunk inside. They were in a narrow hallway, cold air bouncing off the dark stone walls, lit by sconces. Penelo marched down it as if she had lived there all her life, with nothing to fear and a purposeful stride that dared anyone to get in her way.

"Penelo," Vaan said, short of breath again. As they trekked on, he grew more and more perplexed, and as he generally did not like being perplexed (because he so often was, and not knowing was going on got old after a while), he grew more and more impatient for an answer. "What are we doing? Why do you want to know what time it is?"

"You'll see," Penelo told him, earning her a groan and a curse, as they emerged in the kitchen. The cook was ambling back and forth from the cupboard to the oven, where a kettle steamed.

Penelo squared her shoulders and cleared her throat. "Excuse me?"

The cook, pudgy and rosy-cheeked with a sheen of sweat coating her face, turned and gave Penelo a wondering look. "And you are?" she asked shortly.

_I guess not all Archadians are polite after all._ Penelo didn't miss a beat. "Astram, chef's assistant in the Rabanastran palace. Lord Larsa never had time to introduce us. I'll be making his tea today."

The cook gave her a steady once-over, then cast a glance at Vaan, who said nothing. "Him?"

"Dishwasher," said Penelo, surprised by how convincing her lie sounded – maybe she had been around Balthier too much as well. "Lord Larsa let him come with me. An apprenticeship, you might say. Wants to be a cook someday, studying world food, all that."

The woman seemed to think about Penelo's statement for a moment, rubbing her hands on her apron. Vaan worried she would see through Penelo's lies, but that only suited his role of awkward tagalong better, while Penelo stood straight and tall. Her face did not betray the fear she shared with Vaan.

"Okay, then," sighed the cook. "Sweets are by the knife-block, you should know where everything else is." Then, looking relieved that she didn't have to spend her noon-hour shuffling through a hot kitchen, she hung up her apron and left.

The moment the door swung shut behind her, Penelo twirled around in glee, then hugged Vaan fiercely. "I did it!"

Vaan smiled. "Try not to make a habit of it, or Balthier might whisk you off as his leading lady."

At that, Penelo snorted in a rather unladylike fashion and set about the kitchen.

"I should thank you, dishwasher," she said playfully.

"Why's that?"

"Never knew my way around a kitchen before yesterday."

Vaan shrugged, wincing as the kettle began to shriek. "You know me, always happy to help."

* * *

When two sharply dressed men came to fetch the tea and treats, Penelo managed to slyly coerce them into conversation, however reluctant they might have been. Luckily, the servants of the palace mostly stayed out of sight and weren't familiar with her face, so she went unrecognized. Vaan became increasingly impressed and frightened by her new personage as Astram, chef of Rabanastre, and had to admit she was quite the actress. Then again, Penelo was always very good at getting what she wanted.

When the servants ventured a glance at him, he cleared his throat and hurried off to look busy. He knelt to open a cupboard and began noisily banging pots and pans, unsure of what else to do. This either satisfied or frightened the strangers, because they quickly looked away, going to retrieve the china.

"Oh, don't bother yourselves," Penelo said warmly. Her charm was undeniable, no matter what name she assumed, so even the grumpy man smiled a bit. "I'll get the teacups. Two?"

Clever, thought Vaan, certainly something he couldn't have devised. She wanted to know if Larsa was having tea alone (or was it "taking tea?" What in Ivalice was the difference? Upper-class talk had a habit of vexing him, but then again, Vaan was normally vexed by the unnecessary).

"One," corrected the servant, placing a tray of biscuits on his aquiline fingers. It really was admirable, the grace waiters possessed.

"Astram" withdrew two cups and saucers, hiding the brief moment in which relief overcame her. She covered her blunder quickly, the lie sliding easily off her tongue: "Oh? I suppose the cook didn't tell you. Larsa's having a guest. Rabanastran delegations or some such. She came on the same airship as I did." The men exchanged glances; Penelo continued, "Haven't seen her? Probably not. Something happened with her luggage – I think a valise got left behind or lost in the aerodome. She'll probably be late, but at least she'll have a hot cup of tea waiting for her."

The taller of the two men seemed skeptical of her at first, but she smiled apologetically and that was that. Vaan supposed they didn't get to interact with pretty girls very often, something that clearly made them stupid. (If he said this to Penelo, she'd thank him for thinking her pretty, then call him incorrigible; if he said this to Balthier, while finding himself awfully observant, Balthier would sneer and say, "At least _they_ have an excuse.")

While Vaan was musing over his own wit or lack thereof, the servants, with their trays stacked and aligned on steepled fingers, had long since left. Penelo was in a busy rush to tidy things up and tear her apron off over her head.

"Why go to all this trouble?" asked Vaan. "You could've just shown up and drank the other cook's tea."

Penelo smiled sadly, something that made his heart clench. "It's the last tea we'll be taking together. I guess I just wanted it to be perfect."

Vaan, in a display of empathy and tact, didn't say anything – just mirrored her smile and wiped a smear of flour off her nose. (How it got there, he wasn't sure.)

"Thanks," she said, her voice watery, to his wordless prayer of good luck. He nodded and she was out the door, nothing but the memory of a momentary wisp of her blonde braids to keep him company as he excused himself from the kitchen to wander the grounds, while Penelo said her final goodbye to her heart's home.

* * *

Penelo snuck by the servants (carrying empty trays back to the kitchen) unnoticed, sticking to the shadows common in the palace at this time of day, when the sun was too high and the drapes were drawn. One was in a tizzy about two teacups and not a single guest; the other seemed to be listening with detached interest, eyes fixed on his nails, bobbing his head as they passed.

Her feet moved of their own accord, her mind elsewhere. She was astonishingly composed down there in the kitchen, but out of its stuffy humidity and floury air, she felt naked, exposed, uncoordinated. Maybe she shouldn't have come at all, but she knew her heart wouldn't have let her stay in Rabanastre and do nothing. She needed closure, a proper goodbye, a reason. She certainly didn't want to know the name of Larsa's bride, especially since he seemed to think her undeserving of it. All she wanted to know was how he felt about her.

His fiancée was probably wealthy, beautiful, kind, aristocratic, and could wax poetic at a whim. They could talk about everything, like fancy food and fabric and all the things Penelo never cared about. (To his credit, Larsa didn't seem to either, but she wasn't particularly paying attention to reason with her heart a leaden lump in her throat.)

Penelo hated feeling this way. Guilty, like she'd deviated from her own fate by asking to go to Rabanastre. It would have been easier for him to tell her and take her back and wish her well as she climbed off the airship, but she gave him the perfect opportunity for the easy way out. Uncharacteristic of Larsa, but that only made her angrier, sadder, guiltier. She was looking for anything to hate but found nothing, not even herself. Why couldn't she be one of the people who hated easily? But such cruel emotions were not for her. Not hatred, only anger.

The sunlight poured onto her face, brilliant after the time spent holed up in the steam saturated kitchen. She flattened her hair and stepped onto the familiar cobbles that wound between rows of roses, twirling until it came to their place. Their little sanctuary away from the world, where there was no scent of war or death, only pollen and chamomile tea.

He looked calm, as he always did, but she could tell the difference from a mile's distance. His tea was cupped in both hands, as if the warmth would stave off the chill so obvious in his eyes. She could read him like tea leaves, she thought with morbid cleverness. He seemed to stare at the teacup opposite him, empty and virginal white. Her anger melted and there was only sorrow, sorrow for him and the pain she knew he endured keeping such a secret, knowing it would in turn hurt her.

Larsa lifted his eyes when she sat down. There was only the slightest hint of shock in them because as he grew older, he hid himself well, but never enough from her. She did not reach for a biscuit or tip tea into the pristine porcelain cup. It was not hers, after all, not anymore.

"Penelo, what are you doing here?" His voice was full of emotion. The fact that he no longer spoke to her as a stranger both brought a smile to her face and a strike, swift and sharp as lightning, of grief to her heart.

"I just wanted," she stopped and took a deep breath. Her voice was cracking, though she had planned a strong front, a clean break, not to be all blubbery and tearful and childish. She was a woman now, after all, and he knew as much. "I just wanted to say some things before I go."

"Back to Rabanastre?"

Penelo nodded. Breath was hard to keep, flying in and out of her faster than a bellows. Her hands were shaking too, chiming against the saucer, but a glance down at it only reminded her of how brief she had to be. "I wanted to say that I wish you the b-best…" _Damn it._ Stuttering was not an option. Just as she had days before, she couldn't seem to repeat her speech properly. In fact, she blanked on most parts of it, the bits that included yelling, so resolved to improvise and speak only what she felt. "The best with your wife, and that I'm sorry I've been a burden to you, and that I've really enjoyed the time we spent together, and though it seemed long now I see it was too short, and…"

"My wife?" The words were breathless: he was truly surprised. Penelo convinced herself that as a politician, he was exceptionally good at lying.

"It's okay," _but it's not,_ "Basch told me about it. Your… your wedding. What you've been planning for all those months. Probably why you couldn't see me as much. You could have told me, you know. I'm…" She wanted to punctuate that with "happy for you," but the words caught in her throat. She squeezed out, "I'll be fine."

Silence clung between them, broken by songbirds chirping and leaves rustling in the breeze. It was too lovely a day for something like this, too nice out for her eyes to sting with tears like they did. Penelo blinked rapidly, watching on her trembling hands with concentration. Well… Perhaps that was that. "I should –"

"Penelo." His voice sounded strained and forced at the same time. Metal creaked against stone as he stood up brusquely, pushing his chair away. She watched wide-eyed, unable to move, as he rounded the table. Bemusement was what she felt as he lowered himself onto his knees and looked up at her. His eyes were so… honest. Honest and sad and amused, and she had no idea what to do or say because he looked as if he might cry and laugh at the same time. "Penelo, you've gotten it all wrong."

Anger rushed through her, but to her dismay calmed when he took both her hands in his. She loved the way they felt, how they enveloped hers entirely, how warm and soft and… T_hey're someone else's now. They're not mine._ "You're getting married," she told him squarely.

The corner of his lips quirked upward; her heart gave a leap, and she wished he didn't have this effect on her. "Am I? Do you see a ring on these fingers?"

She flushed to notice there wasn't one, none aside from the silver band emblazoned with the Solidor crest. "Well, no, but I…" Now he was playing games with her. His family ring reminded her how good the Solidors were at that sort of thing, and she stood up, ripping her hands away. "Look, you're getting married. I know you are. You may not have a ring, but you've been planning it this whole time, and you told Basch and Ashe but you didn't tell me, which I don't understand because I thought we were friends, and I thought… Well, you didn't tell me! And you've had people running around planning this big wedding behind my back!"

She was pacing by now, then spun to face him, long braids whipping around. "And that's not fair! I don't even get to meet this mystery woman you're so infatuated with! Am I even invited to your big fancy wedding?" Penelo didn't even know what she was saying anymore, but it felt like a damn had ruptured in her brain and now words were just tumbling out her mouth.

Larsa stood and made a noise she couldn't discern from a sigh or a chuckle. Her fists clenched and she seethed, but he said calmly, "Oh, I think you know her."

"Do I?" She threw her hands in the air and began to walk in circles again. "Who is she? The princess of a Rozarrian province? A family friend and the heir to a big fortune?" Penelo glared at him. "Don't you dare tell me it's Ashe. I'll be sick right here and now, I swear."

His gaze softened, and the amusement fell from his face. "Have you really spent so much time with Vaan?"

"Don't insult me!" she blurted out, then privately prayed Vaan wasn't listening. If she ever saw Larsa again, she'd have to give him a good chewing out for that remark – even if, in another situation, she would have found it slightly funny. "You've done that enough! Don't stand there and pretend you don't… That we didn't… You're such a liar!" She wiped her balled fists across her face, fighting the hiccups that burst out of her in bubbles. She'd only had one goal – Don't Cry – and she'd gone and blundered it up. Why were goodbyes so frustrating?

Penelo barely heard the click of his heels as he crossed the cobbles and embraced her. She struggled weakly, mumbling obscenities, then settled and wept into his shoulder. "Why are things so hard for us?" she whispered, breathing harshly as if to inhale the warmth and security his body offered. She didn't even complain when he pressed his lips to the crown of her head and kissed her hair.

"Fate is fickle," he told her. "She likes to put you and I in the wrong places at the wrong times."

Penelo sniffed. "You're always in the right place. You were five months ago when you found me. I'm the one who's in the way."

He tensed as he held her tighter, pulled her closer; Penelo's lashes fluttered closed and tried to remember everything for later, tried not to think how some strange woman would be right here someday soon, and there wouldn't even be Penelo's scent lingering to remind Larsa she'd once been there too. "I was in the wrong place two nights ago, in the stables. The fault is all mine, Penelo. I assumed too quickly."

She opened her eyes and wiggled a bit out of his grip. "What do you mean?"

Larsa released her, running a hand over his face. "I am truly sorry for the grief I've caused you. When I saw you and Vaan, I thought… You can understand your position was compromising."

Penelo raised a brow. "We were horsing around, he was trying shove straw in – you know what, that doesn't matter. That's no excuse to go marrying some princess and not tell me about it!"

"I am not getting married," he told her, his voice a bit pleading. "I have yet to even propose."

"But you're going to!" Penelo stomped her foot, feeling heat and indignation rise in her again. "One of these days, and probably soon! And obviously you think she's going to say yes!"

"Well, I had hoped." He looked straight at her. Something in his eyes made her shut her lips. "But after that… display at the stables, the ceremony has been cancelled."

Penelo sighed, exasperated. "Can't you ever just say what you mean?"

"I had assumed I would have a ring when I asked this, and we would be on better terms… But we are in the gardens, so at least one thing has gone according to plan." She eyed him curiously, then with surprise as he lowered himself to one knee.

"You're kidding me." The words tumbled out on surprised breath.

"Penelo, I am truly sorry. For these last few months, I've alienated you when I should have held you closer than ever before. For these last few days, I've assumed the worst in someone who has always assumed the best in me. For the tears on your cheeks now, and any you may have shed before, even if I was not the cause – and for every sad beat of a broken heart, for every breath with which harsh words were spoken that should never have had to mar such a graceful tongue."

He took her hand in both of his, small and tan against his pale skin, and she could only watch. "I love you. If I have not said it enough, let it be every word from my lips for eternity. And then, if I have said it too much, let my lips be sealed so that I can better hear your voice." He kissed her knuckles softly. "I love you. If the greatest torture I have endured is your absence for these many months, then the greatest pleasure would be your presence for all of those to come."

"You…" she breathed. "You're…"

"Penelo." He smiled. "Will you marry me?"

Her entire body was shaking, her knees quivering as if she were balancing on a thin, thin thread. Finally, with the last words he spoke, it snapped and she fell to her knees, lips crushed to his with such force that they both tumbled back onto cobbles. His hand wove through her hair, his other around her waist, pulling her to him until air rushed out of her. She broke their lips apart, tears falling from her cheeks onto his, and laughed against his skin. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!"

Larsa laughed too, a sound so happy it vibrated through her and she laughed harder, smile spread wide enough she thought her face might never be the same. Happiness and relief blossomed, blooming over anger and sadness, until all she could feel was her heart beating, and all she could hear was the elated mixture of their laughter.

And somewhere, just in the shadow of the palace arches as the sun sunk and it became one o'clock, there stood Vaan with two very confused, yet strangely very pleased servants.

* * *

_the end!_

* * *

**Author's Note (again):** Oh my GOD. Jesus. JESUS. What the hell. I… A HAPPY ENDING. YAY! But seriously. I don't even recognize myself anymore. This has got to be the fluffiest thing I've EVER written (decently). My. God. I blame… Who am I kidding? I blame myself! It's so vomit-inducingly _sweet._

And yes, it was really tempting for the last line to be: … there stood Vaan, arms crossed and grumbling, "Worst. Breakup. Ever."

That or the waiters in stereo: "Wow. She must be a _really_ good cook."


End file.
